"Mommy's sick," I whisper, over and over and over again. Will they ever get it?
Not if they want a refill on the chocolate milk.
Not if the little guy is busy dive bombing off the back of the sofa, right on top of me.
Not if the bigger guy wants help drawing Batman so he's "Perfect".
Not if it's supper time, and they actually want to eat.
Not if they can't find their favorite video in the mess that now covers the living room floor.
Or their favorite book. Or any book.
Not even when Daddy's sick, too.
Not until bedtime comes early. Too early for them ... not early enough for me.
Mommy's not supposed to get sick. Ever. So somebody better FIX it. Right Now.